She could barely hold her cigarette. The blaze
At the end of her face. Time ticking.
The heat is getting close. This girl in
Women’s clothing is looking at the stars and then at me.
Her decorated eyes dissolved into an ashen blackness standing still
And she tells me: If nothing can be salvaged, set the whole thing afire to save yourself.
I was scared to let her walk away and yet nothing would hold her back.
She had heard all the excuses, all the justifications, had identified all
The masks in her life. She was searching for a face like hers everywhere.
And when she gazes at her own image in the mirror, she fantasises about the
Possibility of shards, that they are always there if you take an action, nevertheless invisible.
“Jeune femme rousse” by Paul-Albert Besnard (1849-1934)